


In Sickness and in Health

by godtier1



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Parasites, Sickfic, Surgery, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtier1/pseuds/godtier1
Summary: After separating from Grogu, Din feels lost and directionless. He ends up on Cobb’s doorstep, who takes him in with open arms. For a while, things are simple, ordinary even. Until the day Cobb gets sick....
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 73





	In Sickness and in Health

For the first time, in what felt like a lifetime, Din’s life was... rather ordinary. Grogu took Din’s heart with him when they separated, leaving Din to wander aimlessly until he found himself back in Mos Pelgo. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he knocked on the marshal’s door. They had shared campfires together, fought a dragon together, but in all reality had only known each other for a couple of days. Cobb had been surprised to see Din, of course he was, but he wasted no time in ushering Din into his home, with the explicit instructions to “stay as long as you like, you hear?” Din assured him that it would be “just a couple of days, just until I can get back on my feet.” Cobb never asked what that meant, and Din was grateful. 

Two days turned into a month, which then turned into six. Before either of them had realized it, their lives had become perpetually intertwined. Cobb woke first, then Din. Cobb would cook breakfast for the both of them, humming softly to himself as Din used the refresher. Cobb would fill the morning air with his chatter, and as Din allowed himself to fully wake up, would join in. They would each tend to their own respective duties around town during the day, and under the setting suns they would sit on Cobb’s roof, filling the evening air with their chatter once more. If anyone were to ask Din what they talked about, he would shrug and reply “everything and nothing.” Their lives had become excruciatingly domestic. 

Despite the strage, unfamiliar monotony in Din’s life, he was... happy. Things were good.

Until, one day, they weren’t.

The oncoming storm began with little pomp or circumstance. No warning bells. No general feelings of unease. In fact, Din was unaware that anything was even remotely wrong until the day he awoke before Cobb. He stood alone in the kitchen, confused as to why things felt off, until he realized what was missing was Cobb himself. He padded over to the other end of the abode, to Cobb’s room, and frowned when he didn’t hear any noises behind the door.

“Cobb?” He knocked lightly against the door. “You in there?” When he got no response, he tried again. “Cobb, you need to be out the door in an hour.” Still, he got no response. “Maybe he’s already left for the day,” Din mused under his breath, but when he passed the front door, Cobb’s combat boots were right where they had been left the day before. 

Din almost missed the gleam from the other side of the house, morning light filtering in on a silver head of hair. He was almost relieved, until he realized Cobb was laying, motionless, on the floor in the refresher. He rushed over, slightly panicked, and placed a hand on Cobb’s shoulder to rouse him.

“Cobb? You alright?” The refresher smelled faintly of vomit, and Din added, “Cobb? Are you sick?”

Cobb opened his eyes, eyelashes fluttering slowly, before registering that Din was beside him. He turned to face him, and Din noticed that his skin was three shades too pale. He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned lightly. 

“Din?... yeah, just a little sick. Must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me.” At Din’s insistent stare, Cobb added, “I’m alright. Just give me a minute. I’ll make us breakfast.” 

Despite Din’s protests of “Hey, take it easy, you’re sick,” and “I’m capable of making my own breakfast thank you very much,” Cobb got off the floor slowly, joints popping as he did. He patted Din on the shoulder as he passed, giving him his signature grin that made Din’s voice die in his throat. 

“Relax. It’s gonna take more than that to take me down.”

And for the next couple of days, he was right. Cobb went about his business as usual, and Din heaved an internal sigh of relief, realizing it must have just been a fluke. He brought down his guard and went on with his life.

Three days passed. Din, while doing his daily rounds, was approached by an inpatient looking man whose name he could not remember. 

“Have you seen the Marshal?” he asked, sounding slightly irritated. “He was supposed to meet me an hour ago.”

Din frowned, and thought to where he had last seen his housemate. 

“The last time I saw him was this morning. If I find him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

“Good. Oh and Mando? I don’t know what you and the marshal get up to when you’re together, but he seems happier than I’ve ever seen him. Keeps him from riding my ass about my drinking habit.” He chuckled to himself. “Thanks for that.”

Din felt his cheeks heat up, thankful for the protection of his helmet against prying eyes. 

“No problem,” he said, schooling his voice towards a more deadpan expression. 

The man walked away, leaving Din feeling uneasy and restless. Where was Cobb? It wasn’t like him to be late for anything. Din wandered through town for a while, occasionally peeking his head into a building here and there. For the first time he felt thankful Mos Pelgo was so small. 

He eventually found himself back at home, the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach only growing. He opened the door to find utter silence, but Cobb’s boots were by the door, and Din sighed, relieved. He was home, and not dragged off into some corner of the desert by Maker only knows what. 

That was until he heard the distinct sounds of retching coming from the direction of the refresher. 

Din rounded the corner and found Cobb leaned over the vac tube, heaving up the contents of his stomach. He didn’t even notice that he wasn’t alone, until Din was at his side, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

Cobb jumped, clearly startled, making as if to reach for his blaster. When he realized it was only Din, he slumped back against the wall, utterly boneless. 

“Din? What are you doing home?” he panted, looking green around the edges.

“I’d ask you the same, but it seems your pretty kriffin sick again.” He rapped his knuckles lightly against the armor on his thigh, a nervous habit from his youth. “Can you stand? I’ll help you to bed.” 

“Of course I can stand, I just need a minute,” Cobb said, still breathing hard. Din paused, and then against his better judgment, took off his gloves and brought his bare hand to Cobb’s forehead. Unsurprisingly, he was burning up. 

“You’re running a fever,” he remarked, stating the obvious. A pause, and then, “I don’t remember hearing about anyone else in town being sick.”

“Must be lucky, I guess,” Cobb mumbled, leaning heavily to one side. Din propped him up against his shoulder and Cobb sighed, leaning his face against the cool armor. Din brushed the hair hair from Cobb’s sweaty face. Maker, when had they gotten so domestic? 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. I’ll carry you if you need me to.”

“I can walk, just give me a minute.”

“That’s what you said a minute ago. Stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

Cobb screwed up his face, pouting. For a man his age, he could be childish sometimes. It was equal parts endearing and frustrating. After a moment, he relented.

“Thanks, partner. Sorry to make you haul my ass around.”

Din chuckled. “It’s my pleasure.”

They walked slowly back to the master bedroom, Cobb practically draped over Din’s shoulder. Cobb’s room was like the rest of the house, sparse but cozy. Din tucked him into bed, returning a moment later with an extra blanket and a trash can (just in case). It was a good thing he did, because the following hours found Cobb hunched over, clutching the trash can with white knuckles as he emptied the rest of his stomach. 

Hours turned into days. Din watched as Cobb dry heaved, again and again. He shivered uncontrollably under the blankets, only to throw them off moments later in the throes of fever. Din had been worried before, but now he was quite alarmed.

And then came the hallucinations. It started with Cobb mumbling under his breath, words that Din failed to catch. Then he started speaking utter nonsense, eyes darting frantically around the room as if he were talking to someone just out of earshot. He sounded afraid, and Din’s heart broke. The delusions came in short bursts, interspersed with periods of utter lucidity. 

Din made it his number one priority to keep his patient hydrated, but every time he gave him water (“small sips Cobb, take it slow”) it promptly came back up a moment later. Cobb was apologetic, looking truly sorry for wasting such a precious commodity. 

“It’s alright, you can’t help it,” Din soothed, wiping the sweat from his temples with a cool cloth. 

By day five it was clear that Cobb was not going to improve on his own. Word had spread quickly throughout Mos Pelgo of their beloved marshal’s mysterious illness, but healers were in short supply in this part of Tatooine. Din sent a handful of villagers to Mos Eisley to fetch a doctor. He was becoming increasingly desperate, hoping that his paranoia was unjustified.

He watched over Cobb as he slept, fitful and restless. Already his cheeks and eyes were looking sunken in, as if his already slim frame had given up on trying to hold onto any weight. Why was this happening? And why Cobb? Hadn’t he suffered enough? Hadn’t he already paid the fates his dues in a lifetime of hardship and deprivation? 

Cobb stirred, startling himself awake. He looked to Din, eyes bright, and held out his hand. His fingers were shaking violently. Din grasped the offered hand with both of his own, squeezing softly. A silent promise. 

“Hang in there, friend. Help is coming.” 

Help finally arrived in the form of Dr Doma Cardon. She was a tall, serious looking human woman, and she arrived with a large bag of medical supplies. She looked over Cobb, poking and prodding until she seemed satisfied with her analysis. She turned to Din.

“Are you his partner?” she asked, tone stern but free of judgement. Din blushed. He didn’t have the heart to correct her, so he nodded. “Looks like a case of severe heat stroke. Keep him cool and hydrated, and he should improve in a day or two. Call me back if you need me again. I’ll be around for a couple of days.”

Din could have kissed her, his relief was so tangible. Cobb was going to recover, and they would return to their blissful monotony. 

He was going to be ok. 

Except he wasn’t.

Instead of getting better, his health only continued to deteriorate. How long could he last without water? Without food? In a week’s time he was looking less and less like a healthy, middle-aged man and more like an animal carcass laying forgotten in the desert, lost to the wind and the sand. 

It was on day seven that Cobb admitted to something positively alarming. 

“Hey, Din?” he asks, looking lucid for the first time in hours. 

Din snapped back to attention, having been previously zoning out and starring unseeingly out the window. He tried to sleep when Cobb did, but his worry and the uncomfortable wooden chair he sat in left him sleep deprived. 

“Welcome back. How are you feeling? Do you think you can stomach some water?”

Cobb scrunched up his face, looking sick at the mere mention of water. His indignation would have been cute if the situation weren’t so dire. 

“I, uh, don’t think that would be a good idea.” He swallowed thickly, before continuing “I don’t think this is a heat stroke, partner.”

“Why is that?” Din asked, then added “not that I don’t agree with you, because I do.”

Cobb paused, as if trying to decide how to word an idea that was particularly delicate. 

“I think… there’s, um… something moving, in my guts. More than one something actually. It, uh,” he gulped, clamping a hand over his mouth like he would be sick again. When he wasn’t, he continued, “I think there’s something really fucking wrong with me, Din.”

Din sucked in a breath, his insides turning to ice. Before he could dwell on it he was up out of his chair, overturning it in his haste. He yanked open the front door and ran, all the way to where Dr. Cardon had been staying. The whole trek there was only one thought on his mind, and it was the look of utter self-doubt and fear that had been etched onto Cobb’s face. He has never seen him look that way. He had seen Cobb many different ways in the six months that he had lived with him. He had seen him looking cocky and sure of himself, winking over his shoulder at Din after settling a particularly petty argument in town. He had seen him looking steadfast and strong, holding his ground when negotiations with the Tuskens had stalled. He had seen him looking gentle and kind, adjusting the clasps on Din’s armor when it had come loose. And now, today, he had seen him looking utterly terrified, afraid that he was being consumed from the inside out. 

After relaying the newest information to the doctor, sounding breathless and slightly out of his mind, she followed him back to their home. They found him slumped over the side of the bed, his head vaguely in the trash can. When it was evident that he was finished being sick, Din brought him back to sitting propped up against the pillows. Cobb’s eyes were slightly unfocused, trying and failing to meet Din’s gaze. 

The doctor set to work immediately, asking Cobb questions (“where are you feeling things moving? Your abdomen?”). She lifted his shirt up and stilled, gasping to herself. Din shuffled to her other side to get a better look, and almost fainted at what he saw. Cobb’s stomach was distended, and the shadow of movement could be seen just under the skin. The doctor looked to Din, gaze serious. 

“I’ve seen this, only once before. We call it Dune Fever. It’s a rare parasite, found deep in the old mines of Tatooine. Waterborne. Judging by his age and his…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the slave brand they both knew was on the back of his neck. “He could have contracted it ages ago. Decades. This bug lays dormant for years, often completely asymptomatic, harmless. But for some, it will cause severe disease. Which I believe is what we’re seeing here.”

Din balked, speechless. When he finally found his voice again he asked, “But you can help him right? You can treat it?”

She looked to Cobb, pallid and fragile against the bedsheets, before shaking her head. The motion sent a shot straight to Din’s heart. 

“This is fatal in the majority of those who develop symptoms. His only chance is to extract the parasite surgically, but there’s a catch.” She locked eyes with Din. “There is a slim window where successful extraction is possible. You must wait until the smaller parasites will merge into one larger one, to ensure they are all removed at once and to lessen any lasting internal damage.” She took off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt. “But you mustn’t wait too long, because once it is whole it will force its way out of him on its own. At that point, chances of survival are almost zero.”

“But you can perform it? The surgery?” 

“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “This is well above my pay grade. But…” She looked back to Cobb, who was looking caught somewhere between dreaming and reality, “I’m probably the only chance he’s got, and Mos Pelgo will be unprotected if he dies. This could cause problems, even back in Mos Eisley.” She stole a glance to the window and the setting suns outside. “If my estimations are correct, he’s probably got a day or two before the parasite needs to come out. I’ll need to form a team from Mos Pelgo’s residents, a couple of people who are willing to assist with the operation. In the meantime, please try to keep him alive. It won’t matter what I do if he dehydrates to death first.”

She then left the room, leaving Din alone with Cobb and with his own thoughts.

Din felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest. What had he done to deserve this? Just a handful of months ago, he had lost Grogu, his son. He had lost the Razor Crest, his home. And now, would he lose Cobb too? What was Cobb to him exactly? He looked around the room forlornly, and wondered when “Cobb’s home” had turned into “our home.” Cobb had become ingrained so thoroughly into Din’s existence that at this point, he wasn’t sure who he was or what he would become without the other man’s presence constantly at his side. He felt nearly on the edge of some sort of epiphany when he heard Cobb groan from the other end of the room.

Din rushed to his side, assessing the situation. “Hey, are you alright? What do you need?” he asked fervently.

“Cold,” was the only word Cobb could manage, shaking visibly under three blankets. He already had all the blankets in the house on top of him. Din thought for a moment, before moving around to the other side of the bed and climbing in. He shuffled over and draped Cobb over his chest, holding him close.

“Try to sleep. In the morning we’ll try to get some more water in you.”

Cobb hummed in response, closing his eyes. His whole body was tense against the Mandelorian’s, his muscles consumed with chills and spasms. Din rubbed his arms up and down Cobb’s body, trying to soothe him.

“Hold on. We’re going to get that thing out of you. Don’t give up yet.”

Din wasn’t sure if he was saying that more for Cobb’s benefit or his own.

For the next two days, time felt like it was moving extremely fast and slow for Din. All of his energy, all of his faculties, were reserved only for Cobb. Din couldn’t remember the last time he had showered, or eaten more than a hastily made piece of toast. Surely he must look almost as awful as Cobb by this point. Almost. 

He had known Cobb was a fighter since the first day he had known the man, though he couldn’t have guessed how far that would be tested. In all honesty, he had no idea how he was still alive. Perhaps out of pure spite, a final “fuck you” to the Maker for the shitty hands he had been dealt over the course of his life. Perhaps it was for the people of Mos Pelgo, who he would give his life for. Or maybe it was for something else entirely.

The days leading up to Cobb’s surgery were quiet in a way that was unnerving. Cobb would sleep, tossing and turning in a fruitless effort to find comfort. The parasites in his gut were growing, and while the blankets were off Din could see them move, underneath his shirt. Each time Din saw this he would look away, feeling light-headed. When Cobb was awake he would try to give him water. By some miracle, he would choke it down, too weak to even vomit. Din could cry from relief. 

In the hours between sleep, the two men would talk. Nothing like the animated chit chat that had become part of their daily routines in the before times, where it didn’t matter what they talked about. Now, their conversations were soft and purposeful. Din finally broke and relayed the previously untold story of Grogu’s departure, as well as the bits of their adventures Cobb hadn’t been privy to before. Cobb listened patiently, taking in Din’s words like they were a precious gift. Like Din was a precious gift. 

The morning of the procedure, Cobb grabbed onto the fabric of Din’s pants to stop him from moving to open the front door for the doctor and her team. 

“Wait,” he said, a note of desperation evident in his tone. He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it, shaking his head. He tried again, but still couldn’t find the words to say. He finally settled on, “Thank you. For staying with me. Both before I got sick and now. I’m happy you came back to Mos Pelgo. I had always hoped I would see you again, and...”

He was interrupted by another impatient knock at the door. Din swiveled his head towards the sound, and then back to Cobb, who looked frustrated in a way that bordered on unhinged. When he didn’t continue, Din patted his hand tenderly and left to answer the door. 

Dr Cardon entered the house carrying a large bag of supplies, and was flanked by those who had volunteered to assist her. Din shook each of their hands, thanking them for their help, to which everyone replied with some form of “of course, it’s the least we can do.” It was all business from this point on. Dr Cardon strolled briskly into Cobb’s bedroom, immediately taking his vitals and preparing him for surgery. She barked commands at her volunteer army, telling them where to set supplies and what to expect in the coming hours. Din stood in the corner, trying to stay out of the way, but each time he caught a glimpse of Cobb’s face he was staring straight back at Din, looking small and lost. 

Din looked positively alarmed when one of the assistant’s pulled out a large bundle of rope, to which Dr Cardon simply replied, “It’s to keep him still.” That was the moment Din learned how difficult it was to obtain anesthesia in this part of the planet, and that the surgeon had opted to operate without it.

“So he’s… going to be awake? Are you serious?” Din exclaimed, the modulator in his helmet practically short-circuiting to keep up with the emotion in his voice.

“These are the stakes, I’m afraid. Also, does Mr. Vanth own any leather belts? We’ll need to give him something to bite on.”

Din busied himself with looking through Cobb’s meagre dresser where he kept his clothes, and found an assortment of belts. He chose one he hoped Cobb wouldn’t mind ruining, and brought it back to the doctor. 

She nodded her thanks as she strode to Cobb’s bedside, belt in hand.

“Mr. Vanth? I’m going to need you to bite down on this. I’m not going to sugar-coat this, this is going to be extremely painful. But this is the only option you have. Are you ready?”

She placed the belt in his mouth, and he nodded once, grimly. He looked back to Din with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Now, Mandalorian, if you’ll please step into the other room, we’ll begin our work.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Especially if he’s going to be awake. I’m not about to let him do this by himself.”

The doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Fine. You can sit on the bed, up by his head. But don’t get in the way. There is going to be a lot happening at once, and I can’t afford any slip-ups.”

Din nodded, and walked on shaking legs to the bed. He sat near the headboard, next to Cobb’s head, and hesitantly pulled one of his hands from under the blankets into his own. He rubbed his thumb over the back of his hand, and for the first time since Grogu, he wished he could take his helmet off. To give Cobb a warm, reassuring smile. To say with his face what he couldn’t say with his words. But the moment passed, and Din lost his chance. 

From the other end of the bed, Dr Cardon exclaimed loudly, “Alright, we’re getting started now.” Din felt Cobb tense up, squeezing his eyes closed and taking deep breaths through his nose. 

Din could feel the first cut as if it were on his own skin. It was as if a bolt of electricity had shattered the stale air. Cobb let out a muffled yell, squeezing his hand so hard Din thought his bones would shatter. Dr Cardon barked orders to her assistants, telling them what she was doing and what she would need from them next. Din could feel himself panicking, trying to steady himself by fixing his gaze steadily on Cobb’s face. With his free hand he wiped lightly at Cobb’s sweaty forehead with a rag, afraid the contact would break the man. 

“You’re doing so good, Cobb. Just stay with me,” he pleaded, his modulated voice sounding foreign to his own ears. “This will all be over soon.”

Cobb’s muffled yells turned to ragged screams, high and loud and wet. His shoulders shook with unsuppressed sobs, tear tracks marring the skin of his face. The metallic tang of blood permeated the air, mixing with the stale scent of a week’s worth of sickness.

The doctor’s cold confidence suddenly became frantic, her steady commands turning into indiscernible shouting. In the panic of the moment, Din made the mistake of looking down to the foot of the bed, immediately regretting his choice to do so.

Dr. Cardon was up to her elbows in Cobb’s insides, his abdomen cut open and on full display. Her arms and clothes were blood soaked, and it looked as if she was wrestling with something that he couldn't see. Din couldn’t pull his eyes away. 

A moment later she shouted for an assistant, who hurried over with a large bucket. Dr Cardon slowly pulled a large, bulbous mass from the expanse of Cobb’s belly, as if she were pulling a weed from a garden. The belt fell away from Cobb’s mouth and he screamed openly, sounding on the verge of hyperventilating.

Din snapped his head back, shouting, “Breathe Cobb! You have to keep breathing!” He could no longer feel his hand from how hard it was being gripped.

It was with a detached sort of horror that Din heard the doctor tell her assistant to take the bucket out back and kill the creature within it. She removed her hands from the cavity of Cobb’s body and reached out for a needle and thread. 

“You’re almost done, Cobb, it’s almost over,” Din promised the man laying beside him. “It’s just stitches now, nothing to worry about.”

Time marched on, punctuated only by the swipe of the surgeon’s needle. A blaster shot sounded outside. Din felt himself dissociating, floating somewhere near his and Cobb’s bodies. In his detachment he saw Cobb, broken and bleeding, barely hanging onto consciousness. His mind began to race, as if Cobb’s life was flashing before Din’s own eyes. 

In his fugue state Din saw Cobb’s kitchen, illuminated from the light of the rising suns. The light reflected off of Cobb’s silver hair. He was standing over the stove, a spatula in one hand and the other outstretched to Din.

“Dance with me?” he had said, a playful smile pulling at his lips. 

So they had danced, chest to chest, Din laughing as Cobb hummed to himself, breaking apart only when the smell of their burning breakfast permeated the air. 

And then Din saw the cantina, full of smoke and bodies and noise. He had been alone, nursing some spotchka, until he spotted Cobb entering the establishment. The whole of the cantina cheered and offered Cobb their drinks and their company. He had looked distracted and a little lost, until he spotted Din’s hiding spot in the corner, and his face lit up brighter than the whole of the room. He pushed past the throng of people until he sidled up next to Din’s booth, smiling brightly.

“Hey, partner, this seat taken?”

And then Din saw the inside of Cobb’s garage, where Cobb had been laying under his speeder, tools in hand. When he had seen Din enter the room, he rolled out and stood up, smiling brightly through the grease and the dirt. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. He threw a screwdriver to Din, who caught it deftly. “Why don’t you join me? I was feeling a little lonely.”

And then, it was as if a final puzzle piece had slid into place, completing a picture that was a half of a year in the making. And Din realized.

He had fallen in love with Cobb Vanth. 

He was brought back to himself when he felt Cobb’s hand go slack in his. He turned to the man quickly, frightened, before realizing that Cobb had finally and properly fainted.

Dr Cardon finished stitching and bandaging Cobb’s midriff, leaving instructions for Din on what to expect for his recovery process. She taught him how to change the bandages, and how to spot signs of further infection. And then she and her assistants vacated the house, leaving an eerie silence in their wake. 

Cobb was still for the first time since this whole thing began. His face looked lax, almost peaceful in his unconscious slumber. Din slumped to the floor and removed his helmet, finally allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. The tears came fast and hard as he sobbed. The realization of how close he had come to losing Cobb hit him like a ton of bricks. His enemy turned friend. His friend who had turned into something more. 

And on that night he swore to himself a new creed. In the morning, he would tell Cobb what he meant to him.

The next morning came and went, and then the next afternoon as well. When the moons began to rise, Cobb finally stirred and came back to consciousness. 

“Din?” he rasped out, sounding tired and slightly confused.

Din startled awake from his position on the floor, where his head lay on his arms on Cobb’s side of the bed.

“Cobb!” he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. “Are you alright?” And at Cobb’s expression he added, “Do you remember what happened?”

Cobb was silent for a long moment, and Din wondered if he had dozed off again. But then he nodded and said, “Yeah… I remember.” He made to sit up, but his body jolted as if he had been electrocuted. “Fuck!”

Din looked on in sympathy, and said, “Easy, Cobb, you just underwent major surgery.”

“Yeah…” Cobb replied, a little breathless. “Did it… did it work? Is it gone?”

“It’s gone, but…” Din trailed off, not sure how to relay the next part. “Your surgeon said there was some pretty extensive damage to your stomach and intestines. She said some of it may never fully heal. Eating is going to be… an experience from now on. There will be a lot you won’t be able to eat, and even the stuff you can eat may still make you sick.”

Cobb blinked, waiting for Din to continue. When it was clear he was finished, Cobb said, “Oh, is that all?” He laughed, but then winced when the movement jostled his injury. “Well shit, I’m alive, aren’t I? I can’t really ask for more than that.”

Din nodded, feeling tears well up in his eyes. Cobb was alive. That was all that mattered.

“Hey, so, uh…” Cobb began, looking anywhere but at Din. It wasn’t often that the man was at a loss for words. “About… all of this.” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Thank you, for riding out the worst of it with me. It sure would have sucked to go at it alone. And the uh… surgery. You were here for that, weren’t you?”

Din nodded, and Cobb continued, “That must have been pretty awful. Sorry you had to see me like that. Hope you don’t think any less of me now.”

Din felt his heart break. How could he think Din would think any less of him? No, Cobb was a warrior, worthy even of Mandalorian armor. He wanted to convey as much, but he couldn’t find the right words to say. The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable moment, Cobb’s eyes downcast, until Din decided actions would speak louder than words.

He took a deep breath, bringing his shaking fingers to his helmet, before lifting it up and away. He hadn’t even realized that he had closed his eyes until he felt the cool evening air hit his face. Opening his eyes, he looked down to gauge Cobb’s reaction.

Cobb had turned to look pointedly at the ceiling, concentrating on it as if committing it to memory. Din gave a fond sigh, rolling his eyes slightly.

“You can look, it’s alright.”

“Really? You sure?” Cobb worried his lip with his teeth, looking conflicted.

“Yes, Cobb, stop being a gentleman.” A sharp intake of breath. “I…I want you to see me. The real me.”

Cobb slowly turned his eyes to Din, and his voice caught in his throat. For an impossibly long moment, he just stared. Din began to fidget under the other man’s scrutiny, suddenly self-conscious in a way he hadn’t been since he was a child. And then, Cobb smiled. Large and warm and genuine. Like him.

“Hey, stranger,” he whispered, reverent. He brought a shaking hand up to Din’s face, pausing before touching his skin. As if Din was made of glass and would break at the slightest touch. As if it weren’t truly the other way around.

“You can touch,” Din whispered back, breathless.

Cobb’s trembling fingers traced the stubble of Din’s jaw, the slope of his nose, his prominent brow. Awestruck, like he was witnessing some sort of miracle.

“I’ve seen you before,” Cobb mumbled softly, slightly incoherent. Din panicked for a moment, afraid he was hallucinating again, before Cobb clarified, “Seeing your face feels like coming home.”

Din’s heart constricted in his chest. He looked down into wide, hazel eyes, and realized this was the first time he had truly seen Cobb as well. Without his helmet, in the low light of dusk, Cobb was softer, less harsh. His signature red scarf traded for gray bed sheets. His windswept face traded for sunken, pallid cheeks. By all means, Cobb should have looked dreadful. And he did. But he was breathing, and his heart was beating, and he was looking at Din expectantly, as if he knew exactly what he would say next.

“I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Cobb sighed, smiling gently. Despite everything that had happened, despite all of the hardships, he looked happier than Din had ever seen him. 

“I always hoped you did.”

His ice cold fingers moved from Din’s face to the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric and tugging lightly. Din’s face broke into a smile, matching the one on Cobb’s face. He leaned down and brought their lips together, initiating their first soft, chaste, kiss. For the first time in over a week and a half, Din finally felt like he wasn’t drowning. He could bask, instead, at the feeling of Cobb’s chapped lips against his. At his thin fingers at the nape of Din’s neck, playing with the dark curls there. At Cobb himself, real, and whole, and alive. 

“I love you, too, Din. Have for a while now.” Cobb looked sheepish for a moment, almost self-conscious, as he continued, “I had kinda gotten used to the idea that you weren’t interested. I’m glad I was wrong.”

Din smiled and leaned in again for another kiss, only for Cobb to suddenly slap his hand over his mouth, looking slightly mortified.

“I, uh… just realized I’ve done nothing but vomit for the last week straight.”

Din broke off into sudden laughter, sounding a little hysterical around the edges. Cobb leaned back, startled, before smiling apologetically up at Din. 

“Maybe let’s try that again later?

Din hummed and swept the fringe off of Cobb’s forehead, laying a small kiss against his clammy skin. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood up, and he moved to tuck the blankets more securely around Cobb. 

“You need to sleep. We can practice that again once you’ve rested.” Din winked as an afterthought, feeling more emboldened than he had in years. Something about Cobb did that to him. Cobb barked out a laugh as he settled further into the blankets, a question playing on his face.

“Stay?”

Din smiled as he returned to his bedside vigil, taking up Cobb’s slender hand into his own. 

“Of course. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Time passed. Cobb’s strength slowly returned to him, day by day. True to the doctor’s words, there were parts of him that never fully healed, but he didn’t seem to mind much. He would just laugh and tell Din to drink enough spotchka for the both of them. 

Life a year later was very much the same as it had been the year prior, but there were some important distinctions. Although Din still wore his helmet in public, he was now “Din” and not “Mando” to the people of Mos Pelgo. Although the two men still frequented the cantina some nights, they never stayed late, due to Cobb’s lowered stamina. Din would half-carry the man out, to which the other patrons would whoop and holler. Even a year later, Din’s cheeks would still burn under his helmet.

And when Cobb would wake up the next morning, his head laying over Din’s heart, he would watch as the sunlight bounced off of their matching beskar wedding bands. He would smile, pressing a light kiss to Din’s dark head of hair. And he would leave the room to make breakfast, waiting patiently for his husband to join him.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m godtier1 on tumblr, come chat with me about whump or DinCobb!


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